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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26793334">An Educator's Guide to Latin and Lobsters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinkwell33/pseuds/theinkwell33'>theinkwell33</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aquarium AU, Aziraphale has 0 marine animal knowledge, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Latin professor Aziraphale, Loneliness, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mermaids, archerfish, clique drama, harried aquarium employee Crowley, ouroboros aquarium restaurant schemes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:49:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26793334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinkwell33/pseuds/theinkwell33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale's been saddled with chaperone duty on a school field trip to the aquarium, even though he's a Latin professor who knows absolutely nothing about fish. One would think it'd be his downfall, but it turns out the only one it slays is one Anthony Crowley, marine biologist and harried aquarium employee.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>GO Meet-Cutes, Good Omens Human AUs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Educator's Guide to Latin and Lobsters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for our beloved book club.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun rose cheerfully the morning Crowley met Aziraphale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It cast pink light through the wide windows of the mid-1990s architectural marvel that was the Lower Tadfield Aquarium. The interior of the building was a horrid amalgamation of Corinthian columns and utilitarian cement, with a green tiled floor that produced a satisfying squeak when walked on with brand new Keds or wet loafers. The external was a professional red brick, belying the weirdness within.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley adored the place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was here early, and as he shoved his bag into his employee locker and ventured out into the lobby to savor his thermos of coffee, he watched the sunrise with a rare smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loved his job here. He loved the creatures, great and small. He understood what they needed and how to provide it to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he didn’t love, though, were the people. Crowley did not understand them at all, save how to irritate them. They irritated </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, with their inane questions, frankly alarming lack of biology knowledge, and tendency to let their greasy children run rampant and terrorize the pettable sting rays.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley, it could be confidently said, was not a people person. By modern society’s necessary law of opposites, this made him an Alone Person, and so far that was going very well for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But lately, he’d been wishing he could point out things like the sunrise, or the weird architecture of this building, to someone who’d sit beside him and share their own perspectives.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been an employee here for five years, working his way up from aquarium guide to keeper. He had a degree in marine biology, a collection of tropical fish in his home (they won prizes; he was very proud), and a disposition pricklier than Edmund the Sea Urchin on one of his cranky days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing about his personality or appearance was inviting. He perpetually scowled, didn’t like asking for help, and had little patience. He also had a perpetual salty smell to his hair - the air here was full of sand and saline, and his cherry blossom shampoo couldn’t drown it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not even his fashion choices drew any compliments. He wore mainly black, plain clothes because they were easiest to wash. This was crucial, given he managed saltwater treatment systems, cleaned exhibits, and occasionally wrestled a deviant octopus who kept escaping into the neighboring enclosure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley also was not talkative by nature. If he wasn’t talking about something aquarium related, or animal related, he was noticeably blunt and sarcastic. Diagnosable anxiety and a family that never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> his whole deal were probably enough to cement that thirty years into his adulthood. Being an Alone Person largely assuaged this issue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But perhaps there was more to what he was seeking for himself than drinking coffee alone in an empty aquarium. He’d have to keep thinking about it. For now, though, it was time to get to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People had begun queueing outside, and he watched them blankly through the clear glass doors. Among them was a fussy professor-looking fellow, surrounded by a group of about twenty eleven year olds. He looked hilariously out of his depth, and seemed eager to get inside so he could set loose the ruffians upon something more interesting than his failing conversational skills. Crowley made eye contact with him through the glass, and fought back a laugh. The man pulled out a pocket watch (!) and glanced at it meaningfully. Crowley drank the last of his coffee and smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to let you in. It’s not even nine,” he muttered, and left to go check on the octopus again. It wasn’t like Crowley </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> unlock the doors even if he’d wanted to. Bee had the only set of keys, and they wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes anyway.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The morning passed, as mornings do. Crowley talked to the sea urchins, sorted out some sort of domestic dispute with a couple eels, and fed everybody. Well, the fish, not the people. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He then realized it was ten o’clock and booked it to the tank deck. He apologized for running late as he wheeled a good-humored but impatient Anathema to the tank entrance in a specifically designed mermaid wheelbarrow. Anathema, who was their Mermaid Performance Artist, did swimming shows among the fish in the largest exhibit every two hours, and due to the fact that her tail was impossible to walk in, she needed his help getting into the tank. Fish out of water, and all that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anathema was one of the few people at the aquarium for whom Crowley had any regard. She impressed him with her frankness, and she seemed to never expect more from him socially than he was capable of providing. They could exchange witty banter, but it wasn’t like she was going to text him about her ongoing courtship with the nervous guy from exhibit maintenance, who was appropriately named Newt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley knew this anyway, but because he paid attention, not from fruitful in-person conversations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless, as they finagled her entrance into the water, Anathema shared a tidbit of gossip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heard there’s a school trip today. Some poor man got saddled with twenty kids all on his own - none of the chaperones showed up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Saw him at the doors before opening,” Crowley said. “Shame.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not even sure why he’s here. He’s not their science teacher. When he bought tickets at the counter, he told Shadwell he taught </span>
  <em>
    <span>Latin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s gonna be out of his depth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Poor bugger,” Crowley laughed. “Don’t envy him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anathema was fully in the water now. She submerged enough to get her hair fully wet, and gave the tail a few experimental flicks. “All good here. Thanks, Crowley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anytime. I’ll be back at ten thirty to get you out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gave him a salute, and then dove with a flurry of bubbles.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Crowley’s half an hour break was typically spent in the private lounge, where he could remain as close to the rickety espresso machine as possible. But today, he found himself wandering over to tank three to see Anathema’s performance. He rarely watched - it was one of those things where if you saw it once, you appreciated the novelty of it. People like him and Anathema did this for a living, though, so it got kind of commonplace after a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, this was not a commonplace day. Crowley hadn’t been standing in front of the wide glass view of the tank for longer than thirty seconds before Mr. Latin and his twenty teenagers entered the area to watch the show.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley observed as the poor professor raised an actual, real handkerchief to dab at his forehead, and surveyed the group to check he hadn’t lost anyone. He looked entirely overwhelmed, and Crowley could understand why. At the head of the group were four hellions brimming with excitement and curiosity, stirring up the rest of the kids with their enthusiasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without a word, Crowley melted into the aquatic shadows of the cave background built to ensconce the exhibit, deciding today was not the day he wanted to start a conversation with a bunch of effusive twelve year olds. Kids could be awesome, but school field trip kids could also be exhausting and rather mean. Underneath Crowley’s crustacean shell of projected malice and solitude, he was rather sensitive to harsh words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And here,” the Latin professor was bumbling, “it seems we have, er, some fish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And a mermaid, Mr. Fell,” chimed in one of the kids.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that can’t be right,” Fell frowned, pulling out a ridiculous pair of spectacles and rummaging through the guidebook. “Mermaids aren’t real. I thought this was going to be some sort of educational exhibit, not a fanciful-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twenty eleven year olds turned to look at him with the visual equivalent of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which Fell conveniently did not see due to his fixation on the guidebook. Crowley at this point was trying very hard not to audibly laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this one, Mr. Fell?” asked one of the four ringleaders. He had curly hair and an imperative expression, though it wasn’t unkind. He pointed to a flounder. “What happened to it? It’s got both eyes on one side of ‘s head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, dear,” Mr. Fell stared at it, looking unsettled. “Perhaps something happened to it, Adam. Not sure if it’s supposed to look like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gross,” said one of the other of the four. He had something like dirt smudged on one of his cheeks, so Crowley thought it was rather rich of him to talk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, Brian, we must be kind to all creatures. Their concept of gross may not be the same as ours. For all this er, fish friend knows, we’re the odd ones for having our eyes where they are.” The professor puffed up with something like pride at instilling a sense of respect for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all creatures great and small</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was...endearing, even if he lacked the education to back </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what about that one?” asked one of the girls, pointing to a glossy green eel doing its best to slither unnoticed to the other side of the tank and failing miserably. They all gathered around and watched in minor horror at its shimmying motions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Urm,” said Mr. Fell. “Looks like some kind of sea snake to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this point, whether it was Crowley’s pedantic nature or his strange fascination with this poor Latin professor he wasn’t quite sure, he couldn’t stay silent for another moment. He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘S not a snake,” he corrected, striding out of the shadows with his arms crossed defensively until he stood beside Fell. “That’s an eel. And the flounder over there experiences what’s called juvenile metamorphosis, where one of her eyes moves so that both are on the same side of her body, the side that goes face up. Adult flounders lay camouflaged on the bottom of the ocean floor and their eyes allow them to watch for predators. It’s a survival feature, not a disfiguration.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh no. He’d really gone and done it now. All twenty kids were staring at him with rapt attention. And the professor was looking adorably affronted, even ruffled perhaps. Something about it was rather heartwarming, but the majority of Crowley’s mental process was currently cursing himself for being a know-it-all when it would’ve been easier to just have slunk away to the break room and make a terrible cup of coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, do you work here?” asked Mr. Fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup.” Oh no. He was going to make a complaint to Bee, wasn’t he? The last thing he needed was </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>inquiry from Management on why he wasn’t “people friendly”. (1)</span>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>1  When that had happened, Crowley had argued that nobody was asking the lionfish to be “people friendly” so why should <em>he</em>. Bee took away his employee parking spot for a week as recompense.</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Why hadn’t he just kept his stupid mouth shut?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind was free-falling through a future scenario in which he left the museum today with the contents of his locker in a banker’s box, including the fern he’d snuck into the break room and was nursing back to health.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What about the animals? Nobody else could coax the octopus back to his tank. Nobody else would listen to the archerfish and their problems. There was some sort of clique drama going on there, and none of the other staff would take it seriously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As an employee, Crowley knew he was replaceable. But as a caretaker, he knew he was not. Those animals needed him, and he might have just gotten a one-way ticket to termination by offending a pretty Latin professor in front of his twenty children. Oh no, oh no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could spiral too much further, an expression of relief broke onto Mr. Fell’s face. He stepped closer so only Crowley could hear as he whispered. “Oh, thank God. I have been at a total loss. I don’t know anything about fish and I’m here all by myself. Can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> help me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t really a question, more of a desperate plea. The children were peering at Crowley with unfettered curiosity. And while Crowley wasn’t a people person, he happened to have a soft spot for kids. When they weren’t trying to be mean to you on purpose, they took animals seriously. They loved them. They liked learning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All right, fine. Besides, with the way Mr. Fell was staring at him with clear blue eyes and a dusting of surprisingly light eyelashes, nobody really had to twist Crowley’s arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I guess. I’ve gotta go get Anathema out of the tank in about ten minutes, but I can do a mini-lesson, if you want. And come back after. Do a walkthrough of the reef exhibit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be spectacular. Thank you. Seriously. We just came from there and I was trying -and failing- to explain the erm, the thing with all the tentacles, the baby Kraken?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley stared at him for a moment. “The...squid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t the foggiest. But anyway, I’m probably doing more damage to their education than good. I’m not their science teacher. She was sick today. And none of the chaperones showed up. It’s just me here and I teach </span>
  <em>
    <span>Latin,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for goodness’ sake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” said Mr. Fell miserably. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind helping, I’d be very grateful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m, er... busy, you know. What’ll you give me for my time?” asked Crowley. He’d meant it as a joke. Some bizarre, unprofessional part of his brain had slipped that through his normally very conscientious filter, and it was voiced before he could stop himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Mr. Fell beamed and said, “How about I buy you lunch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, all right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shook on it, and Crowley couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Fell gave his hand an extra squeeze.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The aquarium restaurant was rather quiet at one thirty in the afternoon, and the two of them had the place nearly to themselves. Much of the lunch rush had gone, and the twenty teenagers in Mr. Fell’s charge had been escorted to the field trip cafeteria set up beside the tropical exhibit, for a “dine-with-the-fish” experience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Crowley and Mr. Fell were dining </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> the fish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The unfortunate issue with the aquarium itself was that it was owned by a rather large seafood restaurant chain based in London. The funding for the aquarium, in some sort of ouroboros-like twist of fate, came almost exclusively from patrons of the chain dining on some of the very fish species that were displayed in the tanks on the aquarium premises. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This also meant that the aquarium restaurant on site was a small offshoot of this seafood restaurant chain. It was where Crowley and Mr. Fell now sat in a booth, both of them trying not to think too hard about the origins of their meals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Fell turned out to be the perfect distraction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name’s Aziraphale,” he said as they unfolded their napkins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your name’s Aziraphale Fell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had rather overzealous parents,” he explained. “They liked the way it rolled off the tongue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley wasn’t going to comment on that. “I’m Crowley,” he said. “I’m one of the keepers here, but I spent some time as a guide. Or a pedant, depending who you ask. Got a degree in marine biology, so I’m sorry I corrected you back there about the flounder. Can’t help it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m very glad you did,” Aziraphale assured him. “You’ve certainly come to my rescue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They opened their menus. Crowley had only ever eaten here once, on the day of his job interview here. He vividly remembered spotting a typo under entrees, where the restaurant apparently offered a Cease, Salad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, and purely for his own enjoyment, had never mentioned it to administration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Years later, he noticed as he scanned the salads listed, the typo was still there. Excellent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pointed it out to Aziraphale, rightly thinking that a Latin professor would find the Caesar Salad mishap particularly funny. Five minutes later, they were both still giggling over it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’d you end up teaching Latin?” he eventually asked. He was fumbling a bit over the small talk but he was genuinely curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I broke my clavicle playing rugby when I was at university. Not a whole lot to do when you’re healing from that kind of injury, you know, so I started getting into books and literature. Eventually, I happened upon some books about language, specifically Latin etymology, and as soon as I was recovered, I changed my area of study to Classics and eventually became a professor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do seem like the logical, professorial type. No wonder wacky sea creatures aren’t your forte.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I may know nothing about fish, Crowley, but I do have other talents. I host a quiz bowl, I hold a patent. I am an expert fencer, and I’ve practiced Poekoelan Tjimindie Tulen for several years.” At Crowley’s head tilt, he clarified, “A form of martial arts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, Crowley was taken aback. But now that they were sitting close, Crowley could detect the solid musculature of his arms, even though Aziraphale was hiding it on purpose under as many layers of velvet and wool as possible. Artfully concealing his strength.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gosh,” he said. He couldn’t say much else on the subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They continued to talk over a rather nice macadamia-crusted tilapia, and Aziraphale requested some clarifications on the scant aquatic knowledge he had, to Crowley’s increasing delight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For instance -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dolphins: fish or mammals?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mammal, Aziraphale. Honestly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drat, I owe Adam and Brian five pounds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sunfish: are they really that large? Seems like an exaggeration.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, they are, ‘s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoax</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You think we just sit around going, oh sure, it’s about this big?” Crowley made a fisherman’s approximating gesture with his hands for effect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never know!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they’d finished eating and Aziraphale had graciously paid the bill, Crowley got out his phone to quiz him on some lesser known species, just for fun. He pulled up a photo of a blobfish and aimed the screen at Aziraphlale, who blanched immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh dear,” was all he said. “That’s...oh, dear. I’m glad you’re showing me this </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’ve eaten, it would’ve put me off my meal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, what is this? Tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, perhaps a fish who has...succumbed to the pressures of modern society?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley threw his head back and laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable, so amused, around another </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was strange, but not wholly unwelcome.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale blushed and pulled out his pocketwatch. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to head back to collect the students. This has been, well, nothing short of lovely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta go check on the clownfish anyway. One of them keeps attacking the filter. But thanks. You know, for lunch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for helping me through what would have otherwise been a very difficult field trip. The class seemed to really enjoy your lessons. You’re a natural.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m flattered that you think so, but honestly I’m not great with people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could’ve fooled me,” Aziraphale smiled kindly. They stood to collect their things, and he turned to Crowley again in a more discreet manner. “In case you ah, want any Latin lessons, or you’d like to continue educating me on marine life, here’s my card.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Crowley said, and they went their separate ways. Crowley went back to his locker to get his waterproof boots in preparation to go check the reef water pH levels and admonish that one rebel clownfish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did take a moment to inspect Aziraphale’s card. It was adorably old-fashioned, printed on very nice cream cardstock, and on the back in a flowery script, was a handwritten phone number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley held it in both hands, smiling to himself. He placed it on the top shelf near his phone and keys, safely out of the way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the day, he found himself smiling at odd moments. Thankfully, none of his gilled companions could ask him why, even if they’d wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he got home from work and had cleansed his hair with cherry blossom shampoo (to no avail), he sat down and sent Aziraphale a text.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What’s your favorite museum?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The response was immediate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tadfield Antiquities, fascinating prehistory exhibit. Went to uni with the curator. Why do you ask? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>- Aziraphale</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley set the kettle to boil and sat down at his counter barstool. He typed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Care to show me around next Saturday? I can’t be the only one with a wealth of knowledge to share.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To his delight, Aziraphale accepted before Crowley’s tisane was even set to steep. The text that followed fifteen minutes later, however, made him do a spit take:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But only if we can go back to the aquarium to pet the little water kite things. I’ve always wanted to do that.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>- Aziraphale</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re sting rays,” Crowley corrected aloud, but couldn’t bring himself to text it. He just...stared at the phone, feeling a soft, sedated, terrifying emotion that might have been what a doomed lobster experiences when it realizes the water’s getting strangely warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was...different, maybe a little scary, and Crowley knew he was in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d spent so much of his life warding off the approaches of anyone else, resisting any vulnerability because he thought it showed weakness. Putting up his exoskeleton of caffeinated grouchiness because being alone was easier than being known.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But take Aziraphale, who was wicked smart and so strong (and probably dangerous), who actively cultivated the opposite impression. It had only taken one day for Crowley to be fully netted by that charm, to enjoy this strange...boiling event he was currently experiencing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Here he was, happy as a clam. Clams, he presumed, were happy. None had ever told him otherwise. They didn’t really emote much, did they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway. He was sitting here drinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>chamomile</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thinking about hands brushing at the stingray station, and what horrible nickname Aziraphale would give the next aquatic creature he met. Crowley was eager for another opportunity to laugh, even if it meant following it into unknown waters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Aziraphale led him to more days like this one...well. Then that was trouble Crowley could handle.</span>
</p>
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